No, she wants to say, I don't know what you mean, but it wouldn't be entirely honest. The difference between the Balladeer and Lee Harvey Oswald is so stark, so obvious to her, that the thought of blaming the Balladeer for Oswald's actions seems outrageous - that much is true. Whatever might have happened in his own universe, whoever he might have become, who he is here matters more. She ought to know, considering the fate her universe set out for her.

But it still wasn't easy or painless to find out she would have died - that perhaps, for a moment, she did. Escaping a horrible fate doesn't make it less horrible.

"I won't," she promises, this time with a soberness she feels. It's not a hard promise to make. She didn't even know there were videos, but if she had, she would have had no intention of watching the grisly business. She rather wishes the Balladeer hadn't watched them, either. However similar the history, he's not personally responsible for anything that happened in this specific universe.

But this isn't a conversation she wants to have with him while he's sprawled in the tub and potentially too sloshed to even remember it. She needs to get him out of the bathroom and make him drink some water or something.

Greta straightens. "Come on," she says gently, reaching into the tub to take his arm. "I think you've been in there long enough."